A Boulder in the River
by Rui
Summary: Age can't be stopped, and sometimes we can't get back the things we lost...


A Boulder in the River

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Disclaimer: If you don't know it by now.... 

Author notes: PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE don't kill me! I heard a song, it trigged my fingers and that resulted in this. PLEASEPLEASE don't flame. And if you can't guess what I'm talking about at the end, then---uhm, listen to the song -"She Misses Him" by Tim Rushlow. This is my 2nd attempt, and I think I'm going to hide under a rock. BYE! Oh! But before I run off and do that! I just wanted to send a big "THANKS!" to those people that reviewed Scars! You're the best! ;) God Bless!!!! 

* * *

The sunlight was bright and warm against her face, as she woke from old dreams to a new day. Rolling away from the light onto her side, she wanted nothing more than to let nothingness return to her weary and aged body. But fate, she has cruelly learned over the past few years, is never so kind as to take holidays. 

He wasn't by her side. 

A hushed whimper crossed her lips as she called out, "Honey?" It took strength to keep the worry and slight anger from seeping into her voice. Pushing the thin covers away from her from, the lady rose to her feet and began the day that waited ahead. 

Panic had become a common emotion in her heart, so often she's felt it swell up in her heart on mornings just like this one. But sometimes the strain can wear off the care, and repairs the rusted worry with depression. Not her though, she's stronger than most, at least that's what she tells herself. 

With every quiet step, her scanning eyes looked for a hint of her husband. Old ears strained to hear the slightest hint of a murmur from his throat, the brushing of his foot against the carpets, or the dreaded thump of another fall. At the stairs, she paused and her eyes sadden for a moment, this is another thing that she had to adapt to. 

Withered and wrinkled hands expertly unlatch the gate blocking him from tripping down the stairs. After taking the first few steps, she turns and latches the gate tightly, just another precaution incase he was still on the second floor. Checking with a soft tap of her hand, she smiled, satisfied. 

Even if he didn't realize the time, she did and a kitchen waited for her to come in and make breakfast for a less than appreciative husband. A slight grimace deadened her serene smile but she shook her head and firmly stated that he couldn't help it. But before the cry to kitchen could be answered, a bath was first, after she located her wondering life mate. 

"Mmm... Mmm...mmm..." A steady rhythm of incoherent mutterings made her frown turn upwards as she reached the bottom floor. She followed the odd sound to the back of the house, only to have her heart chipped away a little more by the site of him. Still in his pajamas her husband sat on the floor in front of the small table and tapped the edge with his finger as he hummed. 

No longer was he the proud, martial artist, and most importantly the father man he use to be. 

"Honey, how many times have I told you not to wonder around?" She asked sweetly, knowing that she was going to get no reply. And the day continued. 

* * *

Breakfast served, and her husband happily staring into the near by street from his rocking chair near the window, she started her daily dusting routine. Humming to herself, she picked up the ancient feather duster, and swiped at cobwebs that seemed to grow overnight. Coughing lightly against the falling particles as they loosened and sprinkled into the air. From the hallway to each room on the bottom floor she worked quickly and efficiently not leaving one surface untouched by her feathers. 

As she stared to ascend the staircase, the wife let out a sigh that came from deep with in her very soul. This always happened when she would go up the stairs, taking a step-by-step trip up memory lane. Near the bottom step was their wedding picture, hanging proudly in a pearl white frame. The edges were starting to yellow with age, and there were small spots of discoloration. 

Step. 

The day they took over her parent's old home. After her father had to be put into the hospital due to complications that had taken his life. But this picture was taken before that melancholy day, and they seemed happy standing on the front steps. Her hands clasped in front of her, and his arms rod straight at his side. She laughed at the light blush touching his cheeks, it was also the day she told him they were going to be parents. 

Another Step. 

Their baby. The picture depicted a smiling vision of youth that had once been her reflection holding a silent newborn baby. Her husband was by her hospital bed, a stern look on his face and a glimmer of happiness in his eyes. In her eyes there was a sadness of the news that had just been whispered into her ear. 

Another quick step, then another till she rested on the second to top step. 

Her journey stopped in front of a small faded photograph held in a frame made from pop sickle sticks, hot glue and glitter. It was the latest edition to the staircase gallery. His grandchildren had spent their energy devising the small frame, and only came out with a few injuries. Her heart swelled in its place, as the memory of the last true family 'day' had been held-that was, of course, before he left them for good. 

Tearing her eyes away from the happy image, the wife tapped the duster absently in the palm of her hand. The clock chimed drolly, retrieving her from the depressing reveries. It was almost time for her to read and for lunch. And so the day continued, and the past was left to play itself into nothingness. 

* * *

The elder woman waved once more and watched as her grandchildren frantically ran about their parent's legs giggling and shouting. One in their mother's arms and another on the way-their grandmother smiled. She always did want a large family and her daughter and son had no problem supplying her with one. 

A sharp metallic cry of ancient gears grinding together bid her family ado. Glancing towards the side of the house, the wife thanked God that her son had offered to do all the chores that her husband could no longer perform. With a smirk and a nod, he began to push the antique lawn mower across the high grass in the front yard. 

She had nothing more to do out of her home, so to its wooden floors and plastered walls she returned. The evening sun was setting in the distance, cascading the home with prisms of color. The prefect time for reading, the wife thought happily. 

"Honey?" She called softly, sliding the paper door open to the library where their son had escorted him after dinner. With book in hand, she gracefully moved to him, sat on her ankles and began reading. 

He couldn't even comprehend what she was reading, and sadly, she knew it. The words of poetry and adventure flowed from her mouth like water, only to be separated in two by his mind. Always pushed around, but not through. And when the grandkids came over, it only dulled her spirit to see them play at his feet, and call him 'Grandpa' but not know who grandpa was beside the man that lived with her. He had become a boulder in a river 

Her boulder in the fast paced river of the world. 

Her boulder. 

Her husband. 

Never had she regretted declining the sensible answer of having someone look after him. It was her job, her whole world now---a job that wasn't thankful, and the world that left her longing for yesterday. 

But as always, the day continued and slipped into the dark beauty of night. 

* * *

She let a huff of exhaustion out, laying her head on the flat pillow. It had been very hard preparing for bed. He just didn't want to be still as she shaved his under his chin, and her unsteady hand nicked him several times, causing small whimpers of pain. Then the bath hadn't been any easier, of course it never was, but it seemed to advance in difficulty with every passing moment. After he had been dressed, laid down, and fell into a heavy sleep did she let her shoulders sag. 

The wife went through her own preparations on autopilot. Too tired from the same routine all day long, seven days a week, etc. she no longer wanted to think about what she was doing but just did it. Only after the lights went out, and the world slept did a tear slip down her face. 

In her younger days she wanted to grow old with the man lying beside her. Thought she wanted to spend her life in servitude, but not like this...never like this. But what fantasy ever had a downside laced on its silken edges? Although it still looked like her husband that horrible disease had stripped him of the thing that made him who he was. 

She prayed in the silence of her mind for the day that she would wake up and was delivered from this life. Whether standing in front of heaven's gates or for the same disease that had taken her husband away from his wife. Only in those two places would she find rest. No more hurting memories to find her, mock her, or force her to stay loyal and keep him in their home. 

Memories wouldn't matter any more, because like Genma, she wouldn't be able to let them run their sharp edges into her heart, she wouldn't know them. She wouldn't own them any longer and honor would wash away with them all. 

The honor that was lost when her husband went away... 


End file.
